


Goodbye, Sweetheart

by Evalie_Soto (Missalyssasecret)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fade to Black, Last Kiss, Lost Love, M/M, Unhappy Ending, last time together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missalyssasecret/pseuds/Evalie_Soto
Summary: Mirror Universe Paul Stamets is cold, calculating, and indifferent.  He didn’t used to be dead inside, until the day he had to kill Hugh.Love is rare in the Empire.  Having a taste and losing it...Dark Mirror Universe fic - no happy ending.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets, Mirror Hugh Culber/Mirror Paul Stamets
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Goodbye, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Anthony said in an interview that counterparts in the Mirror Universe have the same soul as the ones in ours, but have been shaped by what happens to them. The producers chose not to have Mirror!Hugh to keep the character pure. What if the reason we don’t see him is because Mirror!Stamets already lost him, and that event twisted him into the person we saw?
> 
> Warning for non-graphic violence and disturbing implications. No non-con, but a hell of a lot of emotional pain.

Another fine day in the Emperor’s court _, he muses as yet another rebel loses their head._

_Literally._

_Paul’s careful to maintain an expression of bored disinterest, an impassive facade against anyone who might be seeking a weakness. Rising through the ranks in the Empire made that armor instinctive, as much as sleeping with a knife in hand or constantly calculating how to survive betrayal. Casual brutality doesn’t faze him, and he pastes on a practiced look of sadistic enjoyment as the Emperor orders executions. By staring just over the heads of the condemned, he can appear to be an attentive underling while not actually watching the bloody spectacle in great detail._

_When the next group of prisoners is brought in though, his meticulously crafted armor is put to the test in a way that makes the agonizer booth look like a vacation amongst the ruins of Risa._

_”Well, well. I’m so disappointed to see that those I had thought to reward have been plotting against us.”_

_The Emperor parts the disruptors of her personal guard with a wave of one gauntleted hand. She moves like a snake, striding with sinuous ease, ready to strike the unsuspecting in the heart._

His heart _, even though - for the sake of his own survival - she and those who serve her will never know it._

_”Such a pity,” she murmurs, tracing her fingers over defiant chins. One, the Governor of Tellar, makes to bite those fingers. Paul controls his wince as the Emperor barely breaks stride, sword moving almost lazily to disembowel the woman._

_Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centaurius laughs in glee as the former Governor’s blood spills over her boots. She gestures to her guard, smiling while they move down the line and the prisoners are slowly disintegrated by disruptor fire._

_For the first time, Paul makes eye contact with someone else in the room. It’s a brief moment, perhaps one they would both be better off not sharing, but his traitorous heart stores it away._

_He braces himself as the Emperor reaches the end of the line, a sick anticipation for her order to fire warring with overwhelming relief that his involvement wasn't uncovered. Instead, she waves off the guards, walking a slow circle around the man left standing in the middle of the throne room._ _To his credit, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the gore spattered around him, eyes cold and haughty. The sheer disdain on his face takes more courage than Paul thinks he’ll ever possess._

_”Oh, papi, it’s such a shame you decided to betray me. Didn’t you enjoy my favor?”_

_Hugh Culber smiles, but there’s no good humor in it._

_”I hated every moment.”_

_A ripple of shock passes through the assembled lords and soldiers, even Lorca and Burnham seeming surprised. Despite the dread in his stomach, Paul fights not to smile._

_Strong and true to the end._

_Hugh manages to stay upright after the Emperor punches him in the stomach, absorbing the blow without losing his defiant posture. His face is covered in cuts and bruises, but even with a split lip and broken nose, he's beautiful._

_”Any final words? Care to share the names of anyone else involved in your ridiculous conspiracy?”_

_”What’ll I get if I do?”_

_Oh no._

_Inside their black gloves, Paul’s hands begin to sweat._

_What will he do if Hugh decides to expose him?_

_Will the Emperor believe him if he insists a traitor can’t be trusted?_

_Can he reach the capsule of poison inside the hem of his collar before her guards seize him?_

_The Emperor pauses, seemingly delighted by Hugh’s show of defiance._

_”Tell me who, and I might...prolong your life a little more.”_

_Hugh doesn’t flinch when she uses the side of her blade to caress his throat._

_”Gabriel Lorca and Michael Burnham.”_

_If the throne room seemed shocked before, it’s completely still now._

_The silence is broken by the Emperor’s cold laugh._

_”Very brave, papi, stupid but brave. You’ve amused us though,” she pulls the sword away from his neck, “so I think you deserve something fitting.”_

_Paul sets his jaw, certain there’s about to be a spectacle of public humiliation. Slow torture, perhaps, or worse - he swallows as the point of the sword comes up to rest between Hugh’s legs - the Emperor likes to punish those who have performed intimate services for her with physical castration._

_“Paul Stamets. Come here.”_

Oh, merciful gods of old Terra, no...

********

Paul's eyes snap open. He's covered in sweat but doesn't move, no sign to alert the intruder that he's anything but fast asleep. His fingers curl around the hypospray of paralyzing agent under the pillow with one hand, palm-sized phaser in the other. There's no time to wonder how they didn't trip his proximity alert and its backup, or bypassed the bio-coded neural disruptor field around his bed.

Whoever it is is almost in range, and he tightens his grip on his weapons. Before he can roll over and leap, the intruder is on him, powerful thighs clamped around his hips and hands circling his wrists, pinning them to the mattress. 

_This is it_ , he thinks, _it's finally over. Fuck._

"Just me, sweetheart."

Paul's hands go numb with relief, and possibly a little lost circulation. Hugh releases his wrists after a moment, letting Paul turn over beneath him.

"How many times have I told you not to sleep with your back exposed? I could have killed you."

The words are chiding, but there's no heat behind them.

"I could ask how you managed to get past my security precautions."

"I hacked in and reprogrammed them to accept my bio-readings too. Since you hadn't done it yet."

Oh.

"I wasn't expecting you to sneak in here in the middle of the night while I have them active."

Hugh sighs, bending to brush his lips over Paul's. There's a strange look in his eyes, one that suggests this is more than a late-night visit, especially when their meetings are always pre-arranged. Relationships are a liability in the Empire, could be used against them at any moment, and this very much isn't one. Or so they keep insisting.

Paul knows better than to ever try to talk about it, because men like them can't afford a weakness. Especially not ones who've had the dubious pleasure of sharing the Emperor's bed, willing or not. It's better for them both to maintain an air of mutual animosity where anyone else can see it, to service the Emperor together while being barely able to keep away from each other's throats. That part isn't an act, although no one knows the hate in their eyes and supposed desire for violence is a veneer over softer things they never dare voice.

"Hugh."

"Paul."

He abandons the hypospray and phaser to the bedside table, hands settling on Hugh's waist. His fingers skate over the muscular torso, skirting the hidden weapons concealed in the contours of his uniform. Paul's just reached the edge of Hugh's collar - and still marvels that any Terran would let his hands so close to his throat without tensing - when Hugh catches his wrists and pulls them back down.

"What is it?"

Sighing again, Hugh climbs off of Paul and slides under the covers beside him. There's a frown marring his features as he gathers Paul into his arms, as Paul melts into that embrace. The (temporary) sense of safety is rarer than any expensive treat the Emperor might offer, worth more than anything.

"I'm so sorry, Paul."

His senses, just beginning to relax, sharpen to full alert. Hugh's arms tighten around him, holding him in place when he goes to sit up.

"Hugh? What's going on?"

"She knows."

There's only one person he could be referring to. Paul freezes.

"Knows what?"

"That I've been helping the rebels."

"Hugh-"

Gentle fingers press against his lips.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. I don't have much time. Just-" he breaks off as Paul starts to squirm against his hold, "-shhh, it's okay."

"How is it okay? We need to get you out of here, what if they tracked you, how-"

"I have a plan. And you're not going to like it."

"I..."

Hugh rests his forehead against Paul's, closes his eyes briefly.

"Do you trust me?"

He doesn't have to think about the reply.

"The only person in the goddamn universe."

"You don't even know..." Hugh shakes his head as if to clear it. "Okay."

"How bad is it?"

"Bad. I'm not going to make it out of this one alive."

Paul can't breathe, and it's not because he's being held so tightly he can feel Hugh's heart pounding against his chest.

"No."

"It's not up to you, Paul. There's no time to go into it. One way or another, I'm dead tonight."

Hard on the heels of disbelief is the fear for his own life. He doesn't stop to wonder when that became secondary.

"Do they know...about me?"

"No."

"What do we-"

"Paul, it's over for me." 

How can he seem so calm? This can't be happening. He can't even think about Hugh's fate, not after the dream he's just had. 

”I could give you-“

Hugh reaches over to where Paul’s flicked open a small ornate box on the bedside table, covering Paul’s hand with his own and closing it. He shakes his head gently.

”If you do it that way, it’ll leave traces in my body. They can’t suspect anything, or your life will be in danger.”

”My life is in danger every day in this fucking place.”

”I’m going to keep you safe. It’s my last gift to you, sweetheart.”

Hugh’s given him so many gifts over the years in secret - soft kisses, tender touches, sex without pain. Safety. 

“Besides,” Hugh continues, “it’s too late. I’ve already hacked into your secure archive and planted evidence that you’re helping me.”

He catches Paul’s wrists in a firm grasp, 

”How could you-“

”It’ll be clear it’s a rushed job. I’ve left a trail. It’ll look like exactly what it is - a last minute attempt to incriminate you, to bring you down with me, and no one will look any deeper. The truth in plain sight.”

Hugh unclips the chrono from his belt, checks it and sets it on the table. 

"You have to kill me."

”What? No. No! Hugh..."

”It’s okay. I’m sorry, Paul.”

”I can’t. Anything but this. There has to be another way.”

”They’ve tracked me here. You have less than an hour to make it look like what it needs to be. I know you can do it Paul, but we’re out of time.”

“Why not just kill yourself?”

Paul swallows hard and somehow doesn’t choke on the words.

”Because this way, if you do it, it will make your loyalty appear even stronger.”

"We could run."

He knows they can't, knows that Hugh knows he knows it. 

"This is the only way. You'll tell them you caught me trying to break in and plant evidence. Tell them you seduced me, whatever you want, to lower my guard. And they - _she'll_ believe you killed me in a fit of jealousy for her favor."

"What's sex got to do with this?"

Paul feels his cheeks heat as Hugh traces one finger down from his temple, caresses his lips, down over his chin.

"I'm a dead man walking, Paul," he murmurs, eyes sad but determined, "but I want one last time. With you. Something to take with me, that makes it all worth it. I can die whatever version of happy this fucking universe allows me."

"I-"

"Please. Tell me you'll do this."

"I...merciful gods, Hugh, how can you ask me for that?"

"Because I need it to be you. I can't try to outrun it, not this time. You won't make it worse than it has to be. And you won't enjoy killing me. That's why."

He swallows hard. There's so much more he wants to say, if this is the last time he'll ever be able to say it. He doesn't doubt the truth of Hugh's story, or that he isn't going to drag Paul down with him. There's no way to describe the feeling, not when he found the one thing he never thought he could have, not when he won't be able to keep it. For a moment, he's overcome with rage that Hugh would do this to him, would make it impossible for Paul to refuse. It's daily life, the manipulations and calculations, but the anger almost immediately drains away into numb acceptance.

What's the harm in saying it, then?

"I love you, Hugh."

Hugh's smile is warm and soft and beautiful, everything that the Empire isn't. 

”Then please. It’s the last thing you can do for me. Give me this.”

Paul chews his lip, blinks back the unfamiliar feeling of wetness in his eyes. Nods.

"You're going to use your hands, aren't you."

It's not a question, but he nods anyway.

"Thank you."

Hugh cups his face between his palms and pulls him down, fastens their mouths together. The kiss is overwhelming, deep and wet, Hugh’s tongue caressing every place that makes him shudder and moan. Paul lets himself go for just a minute, loses himself in it, pretends that he can have this every day for the rest of a long life. 

There's no time for gentle intimacy, fear and grief and rage that it's come to this channeled into hot lust. For once, they don't worry about keeping bite marks off skin, don't avoid eye contact or bite back the words that slip out at the height of passion. Paul comes first, nearly sobbing out the pleasure mixed with an aching something he doesn't have words for. Moments later, Hugh follows and he can't look away, memorizing Hugh's face below him as he shudders through climax, breathing in the smell of their mingled sweat. He collapses on top of him, kisses him and knows Hugh can feel his desperation. 

Too soon, their lips part and Hugh’s touch slips away. He watches as Hugh stretches his arms out over his head, waiting.

”Do we have to?”

”I’ll fight you at the end, Paul, I won’t be able to control it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Paul shifts against the sheets, feeling the sweat dripping down his thighs. Feels Hugh’s solid bulk under him, around him. 

On the table, Hugh’s comm beeps.

”Thirty minutes. Please, you can’t wait any longer.”

In his forty-five years, he’s heard people begging to die, voices broken with torture and pain. He’s learned to let it wash over him, part of the brutal reality of life. Hugh’s quiet entreaty feels like a dagger to the heart.

Hugh’s right.

He pulls the manacles down from the headboard, grits his teeth and clasps them shut around Hugh’s wrists. Then he forces himself to look at those hands lying lax in their chains, wishes he could feel safe in his arms again. Looks at his bare hands on Hugh’s shoulders, thinks about never touching anyone else’s skin again.

”Hugh...”

”I’m ready.”

”I’m not.”

”I know. Just...” he wraps his legs tightly around Paul’s waist, keeping him from sitting up.

”What is it?”

"Stay like this. Please. I want to- let me feel you with me. In me.”

Who is he to deny this man’s final request?

“Say it.”

”Paul?”

He shakes his head, a lifetime of suppressing emotions allowing a scant few tears. Slowly, Paul fits his hands around Hugh’s neck, thumbs pressed to either side of his windpipe. He barely holds back a sob when Hugh tilts his chin up to give him better access, presses into his hands.

”If I do this...I need to hear you call me that one last time.”

"Paul...it's only ever been you."

Too late. It's all too late.

”Goodbye, Hugh.”

Hugh smiles up at him, soft in a way that Paul knows he’ll never see for the rest of his life.

”Goodbye, sweetheart. I love you.”

One more kiss.

Tears blur his vision, and he takes the memory of Hugh’s smile with him as he starts to squeeze.

********

As predicted, it takes all of his skill in acting when he shows the Imperial Guard his bedroom, and the Emperor calls. His reputation for sadism finally serves its purpose though - the staged scene with its empty hyposprays of stamina enhancers and bloodied sheets meets with her approval, even if she didn’t have a chance to witness the supposed torture.

She offers to leave Hugh’s body “for him to play with”, holoimage flicking off and on to her next act of barbarity. He’s not sure when necrophilia was added to the list of things she thinks he likes, but he’s pathetically grateful. 

Hugh is still beautiful, even with the purpled bruises around his neck. He kisses his lips, washes the blood from his face and body, closes his staring eyes and wide spread legs. Gently releases his arms from the chains and covers him with the bed linens up to his chin, hiding his throat.

His fingers close on the chain in his pocket, and he draws out the silver pendant that Hugh always wore. It's old, tarnished, and part of him wants to clasp it around his own neck, solder the chain shut to keep it with him. It’s too dangerous though, when someone might recognize the memento. 

On its lowest setting, the plasma torch in his toolkit heats the pendant to a dull red glow. It burns with white-hot pain when he sets it on the skin below his collarbone, but he forces himself to keep it there until the nerves are deadened. 

He wishes he dared to give Hugh a proper send off, wishes he could burn down the whole Empire and its filthy, twisted ways. Instead, he kisses Hugh on the forehead as if he’s merely asleep, tucks the necklace under the sheet, then takes a step back from the bed. His disruptor is cold and heavy as he adjusts the settings to vaporize, and he doesn’t look away until nothing remains but a few wisps of ash.

When he’s done, he showers off their sweat, doesn’t let himself cling to the scent of Hugh on his skin. He can’t. Not ever again.

Paul pulls on his black gloves, and stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are stone cold, and he nods once in satisfaction.

Nothing else, no one else can touch him now.

**Author's Note:**

> This was awful to write, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Trying to keep them the Paul and Hugh we know, but twisting them into the Mirror Universe, felt a bit contradictory in their actions, but I hope it comes across well.


End file.
